It has been some three years since Rajender Hakon took control of his family's warrant of trade, triumphing over his siblings in pitched and bloody battle. The family's fortunes have yet to recover from this wasteful conflict, and though Rajender commands a fine ship and a loyal crew, it will be a long time before his dynasty regains its former prominence. If it does at all. For now, a new generation of explorers stands poised to write their deeds into the histories of the Hakon dynasty.

You have come to Port Wander in search of trade, profit, and most important of all, glory. Perched on the edge of the Calixis Sector, in the far reaches of the Drusian Marches, Port Wander is the gateway to the Koronus Expanse and the vast untamed beyond. The station itself hangs massive and silent in the baleful light of Rubycon II, surrounded by the shattered remnants of ancient asteroids and serviced by a flotilla of Imperial vessels both large and small.

Upon your arrival you have been greeted by several formal envoys and salutations from both the Imperial Authority and other Rogue Traders, welcoming the Hakon dynasty to port and honouring your right to passage. This kind of reception is one you have grown well used to and is no less than you would expect. However, one vox message stands out and demands your attention. Recorded in the dynasty's personal cipher, the message is from a man who calls himself Orbest Dray. He says he has been waiting a long time for a member of the family line to return, and carries a message and a gift from Rajender's father. He would meet with you as soon as you have docked at a specific location in the Court of the Dead; Port Wander's vast markets. It is a matter, he says, that promises great glory.

((We begin the campaign on board the bridge of the Satisfaction, with all characters present and having been made aware of the contents of the message. Introduce your characters and we'll go from there.))

Rajender Hakon looked down over the bridge of the Satisfaction, his gaze flitting from man to man, inspecting the work of each with his typical degree of scrutiny. Today, however, such behaviour was in part a show. The ciphered message spoke of the promise hinted at great things, but he remembered how his siblings had conducted family affairs before their untimely demise. It was not something that put him at ease. Was this a trap, the ploy of the inner circle of one of his deceased brothers or sisters' retinues who sought to avenge their master? It was certainly a possibility. He'd done much to bring the remaining assets of his dynasty together when he'd assumed control those scant few years ago, but records were incomplete, damage and deliberately sabotaged in places. It was entirely possible that cells of operatives still existed, isolated from the dynasty during the struggle for the Warrant of Trade. Such things were, of course, as much an opportunity as they were a threat. Another piece of power to be restored to the Hakon name. Which was what he prayed this Dray turned out to be.

The Lord-Captain had dressed in one of the classic styles of the Malfian nobility, his beard neatly trimmed and the carmine double-breasted frockcoat being the most prominent piece of his attire. It spoke of wealth, power and refinement. It also hinted at the reputedly wicked intelligence of the more notorious noble families of Malfi and their capacity for sudden and terrible violence. A clear message that he was not some foolish fop rushing to snatch up whatever gift his father had left behind. He'd be accompanied by an honour guard as well, of course, but such was standard procedure about Port Wander. The absence of one would be taken as a sign of a dynasty's fading power or a brash statement of confidence on the part of a Rogue Trader in regard to his ability to protect himself.

He let his gaze wonder onto the best of his men, those who he spoke to as near-equals. They as colourful and varied as the many worlds of the Imperium and by their skill and position within the dynasty they had earned his respect. Regardless of their eccentricities.

On the bridge, clad in the finest livery of the Adeptus Mechanicus, a crimson red robe adorning the small, hunched figure, the hems and cuffs heavy and golden-embroided with ancient techno-runes. Hidden somewhere inside these robes was Vipsanius Rook, a thin, raspy sound emitting an from ancient and handed-down respirator unit the first sign of life, as was the faint light of a vision-enhancing module flickering occasionally. Then, in one brief motion, a slender, human hand erupted from somewhere amidst the robes and pulled up the hood of the cloak, revealing more of the face underneath... or, what little was visible. Most of the mouth was indeed covered by the breathing-equipment, perhaps even replaced by it, and what else had a sickly, pale hue hinting at minimal exposure to sunlight. A single, narrow braid hung down to where his chin would have been, the hair a matted, ratty brown, and piercing green eyes blinked in the light of the bridge as he pushed the enhancing-module up on his forehead.

*SKRNK* "The Omnissiah blesses us, master Hakon, the Satisfaction tells me she is eager to venture forth into the unknown under your command." His voice was metallic and empty, vox-enhanced by some hidden machinery near his chest, and the tech-priest straightened out a bit, a gleam in his eyes. As he moved, he leaned heavily on a shock-staff bearing the mark of the Omnissiah, its metallic body fine crafted with softly glowing symbols and runes here and there, their meaning known only to the priest who wielded it. "Should a... heh... hasty departure be needed, she will aid us well." He chuckled, the sound like something rattling inside a can, and then his vox-enhancer made another screeching sound as it shut off.

Vipsanius Rook stared at the display showing Port Wander, little in his face betraying the emotions inside him. The rush of victory, finally he was on the path of accomplishing what he so desired.

Dauphin stood off to the side, facing away from the Captain, and doing a great job of not looking busy. He began to turn. He was thin and tall and slick in his black coat, secured about him with large black obsidian buttons. Its collar was crisp, giving way to wide lapels absent of any insignia, medals, or decor. The coat cut off abruptly at the hip, to which a pearlescent white holster was attached, bearing a gleaming brass-looking inferno pistol. Below that were leggings of dark blue xeno-mesh, some alterations having been made at some point to give them a sharp crease. His boots were a simple black affair, though slightly platformed to add to his height.

His face was now in line with the rest of those present, but his black mirrored sunglasses made it difficult to discern his expression, despite his lopsided grin. Such small obscurations often became needling mysteries to any of those possessing curiosity about such things; and the few details commonly known about the man, combined with his presence, only made those sensations more urgent.

He tugged at his dark blue scarf, pausing for just the right moment to speak. He glanced at the bright gold chrono on his right wrist.

"You should definitely seek out this Dray fellow, whether his intentions are clear or fogged. I don't wish to prejudge too much when it is a matter of your family. The likely possibilities should be obvious, and are better left unsaid."

He glanced at the dull silver chrono on his left wrist.

"Though if a heretofore unaccounted for asset of the dynasty is involved, I feel it would be in everyone's interest if I tagged along."

Race Loken was lounging against a nearby bulkhead, nursing a cup of recaf. His dirty blond hair was cut short in a semblance of military protocol, although his unshaven chin and lazy smirk undercut that impression. He was wearing most of a suit of enforcer carapace armor, while the helmet and gloves rested on a nearby console. The thick charcoal-colored pads added bulk to his naturally wiry frame, but he managed to look completely at ease despite the constraints of the armor.

Closer observation would show that he was more attentive than his casual pose suggested; his eyes, mismatched in color and one framed by pale scar tissue, shifted frequently between the captain and the rest of the bridge crew, and while he was drinking with his left hand, his right rested close to the bolt pistol holstered at his hip. This weapon had clearly been well cared for, but lacked any ornament or complication; it had no ambition to appear anything other than a straightforward instrument of war. The longsword hanging on his left hip was more showy - an etched rune was visible in the pommel, and while none of the mechanisms of power field generation were evident, the pale lightning bolt emblazoned on the dark metal scabbard suggested that at least one previous owner had been less concerned with subtlety.

"Your escort is all set, Captain," Race volunteered, levering himself away from the bulkhead with an elbow. "I've got a dozen smart armsmen with clean uniforms, shiny boots, and real noticeable high-caliber firearms." His habitual smirk broadened into a wolfish grin on the last item.

The Lord-Captain gave Dauphin a nod of consent. The man was a far cry from the slate-pushers who'd managed the business of his mother's house yet still possessed a keen intellect. He, along with Tech-Priest Vispanius, were valued advisers. Their presence in the shore party was a matter of common sense. Race didn't even require such justification.

"Very good, Mr Loken." He withdrew the baton from the command terminal next to him, listening as the Satisfaction acknowledged that its master was taking his leave. "Let's see what this man can offer the Hakon name."

The bridge crew carry on about their business, a grizzled lieutennant by the name of Avisk taking over for the docking. By the time the explorers reach the airlock, a solid fifteen minute walk from the bridge, docking procedures are almost complete, a last kiss of thrusters nudging the Satisfaction into place for the gantries to connect with an audible clunk. Various tech-adepts scurry about, testing the seals and ensuring the machine spirits of Port Wander have accepted the ship.

At last, the solid hatch is undogged, the explorers' escort preceding them and fanning out to establish a cordon between them and any lowlives who might seek to impede their progress. Port Wander is a hive of activity, as befits a major waystation on the brink of the Koronus Passage. For the most part, those out at the docks have duties to attend to, and those who hover about the fringes waiting to pounce on new arrivals and offer them all manner of goods and services are dissuaded by a single look at the vigilant armsmen.

In the Court of the Dead, the activity is of a very different type, buyers and sellers haggling over items ranging from firearms to charms to sacred oils and fabrics. It is not an environment into which the group fit, the great masses of humanity clad in drab fabrics of far simpler cut than their own. Storefronts are either purpose-built or converted from disused storerooms or passages, but are in any case greatly outnumbered by simple stalls guarded over by hawk-eyed proprietors. It is to one of these stalls that their directions lead them.

To look at, neither the stall nor the proprietor are anything special to look at, the man appearing as a simple elderly scrap picker garbed in tattered clothes and broken trinkets. Upon seeing you however, he draws himself up, produces the seal of the Hakon dynasty and recites the oaths of service marking him as a servant of the family line. This, then, must be Orbest Dray.

The crowds did not bother the Lord-Captain. He had spent several years of his life mingling with the masses and a handful of them as the first among equals. They knew better than to attract the ire of a Rogue Trader and, of more immediate concern, the wrath of the armsmen that surrounded them. Rajender studied the man as he recited the oath, waiting for any fault that would mark him as an imposter. Once satisfied that the man was indeed a servant of the dynasty the sole remaining Hakon stepped forward.

"I have come to claim what has been promised to me. I trust that you have arranged a secure location for this purpose."

I am getting such awesome One Piece-vibes from this, the whole crew strolling down the streets, bunch a'weirdos, all the losers of Port Wander staring in awe...

Vipsanius reveled in walking the ancient passageways of the Satisfaction, his gaze traveling over the interior and nodding in obvious approval. He generally left the tech-adepts more familiar with the spirit residing in the behemoth do their work, as he felt it too early for him to tend to the machine that carried them. In time, she would appreciate him as one of her own, but for now he was content with a more administrative function.

Occasionally the robed man stumbled as he walked, leaning heavily on his staff, but every time he did he let out a cackle-like laughter and merely corrected himself, wheezing as he did so. Occasionally his slender, corpse-like arms would be visible outside the heavy cloth enclosing him, and the hint of a glimmer inside his robes made itself known every now and then.

As they left the ship behind and stepped down into the Port itself, Vipsanius gave another cackle, and pointed to Race Loken, an eye cocked heavily as he looked up at him, a sneer barely perceivable, despite the mouth-gear. A loud clang and shriek signaled he was to speak."Best keep your bloodhounds on a leash, Loken, lest they feast upon this rabble around us." he chuckled to himself and rapped the staff into the metallic walk board they were on, "An escort, armed at that, is the best way to earn notice of friends and foes alike. Pfah! I should know! I've got too much of the one and none of the other, yet everyone is a good friend with Vipsanius Rook when they see what thistles he's covered himself in. Pfah haha!" his laughter echoed slightly because of the vox-amplifier, but then he grew silent and observed those they passed with the same doubtful, but curious look.

Last edited by ChristianC on Sun Dec 06, 2009 7:52 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Race stayed close to Hakon as they left the ship, projecting a well-honed aura of 'no, seriously, don't get in our way'. Emperor knew that he was plenty used to crowds, but having room enough to breathe was something he could get used to. When the occasional local caught his eye or looked a little too interested in the group, he zoomed in and checked them over briefly with his enhanced vision, but they seemed properly daunted for the most part.

He looked initially amused at Vipsanius's tirade. "They won't do more than bark - until one of these chancers tries to bite down on us." The rest of the tech-priest's words left Race in the dark, but rather than show it, he turned his scowl on the local hawkers and waste-pickers.

Dauphin swagged onwards with the group, glad to stretch his legs. His demeanor may have been counter to Race's; firing off a salacious wink here or there at any who made direct eye contact with him. Arriving at the stall, Dauphin was content to observe, and perhaps size up this fellow's business.

For an instant, anger flickers across Dray's face before he schools his features once more, "Forgive me sir," he says, gesturing to encompass his rather pathetic stall, "But my finances do not stretch to secure locations. I have been awaiting a member of the dynasty here for some twenty years now, and the passage of time has eroded my means." He glances at the mass of humanity surrounding them as if seeing them for the first time, "Perhaps I should relate my tale aboard ship, but I should first present you with the cask." With that, he reaches into his grubby jacket and extracts a small sealed stasis cask with the symbol of the dynasty engraved on its lid, extending it to Rajender.

Rajender:

Spoiler:

You get the impression that this is a test on Dray's part, to assure himself beyond doubt that he is dealing with the right person. Perhaps there is some manner of keyed seal on the cask?

Rajender examined the cask momentarily before taking it, seeking some gene-lock or other device that would acknowledge him as the rightful recipient. He did not expect a prized possession of the dynasty to be guarded by a mere mechanical lock the guardian spirit of a simple rune-pad. Blood was one of the most reliable tests of a man's heritage, and not something easily disguised.

"I would have thought that the dynasty would have provided adequately for you while you were in service to it." He said with slight and intentional incredulity, probing the man for a reaction, continuing to speak only after receiving one or, failing that, a short pause. "We'll have to see about changing that. Loyalty should not go unrewarded."

(Common Lore (Rogue Traders) being used if it can help at all with puzzling out the nature of the cask.)

Vipsanius peered at the little thing Rajender was fiddling with, his visor-enhancers down again, the flat metallic-panel gleaming in the light around him, the lenses whirring and retracting as his own poor eyesight was adjusted for by the ancient tech-spirits in the apparatus. "Marvellous, if I may say so captain..." his voice dribbled with badly hidden curiosity, "So well-preserved, a egg of knowledge I'm sure you will value greatly... perhaps I may be allowed to... ahhahaha... study it, later?" his slender, spindly hands rubbed together greedily, almost hidden by the cloak he wore, and he wheezed once more, something hissing suddenly, readjusting pressure for Emperor knows what.

Dray shakes his head, "I was provided with adequate funds to keep myself in the short term," he says, "Which is all that my time here was intended as. Unfortunately, the dynasty does not have agents stationed on Port Wander, and so I was unable to draw on additional funds when it became apparent that my stay was to be more permanent." There is a certain bitterness in his voice at this, as well there might be given his current status in life.

A few moments' study reveals a series of indentations on the side of the cask, corresponding to one's fingers. A second or so after Rajender places his fingers in the indentations, the lid of the cask slides back into the body, revealing a smooth black stone cushioned within. Dray lets out a small sigh of relief at this sight; clearly it's what he has been expecting.

Rajender:

Spoiler:

The stone is an astropathic mnemolith, used by psykers to store information. The ship's navigator or astropath would certainly be able to read it.

Vipsanius gave Dauphin a stare, his breathing apparatus pausing for a ominous few seconds before his skeletal hand emerged once more from the folds of robes, index-finger waving. "Tut tut, poppet, the Omnissiah works in all machine spirits, no matter how... aha! insignificant it may be... " he chuckled wetly but then went quiet, leaning heavily on his staff and observing the exchange.

The stone holds Rajender's attention for perhaps two seconds too long. As he reaches to close the cask, a small ceature covered in feathers and metal plummets from the rafters, seizing the mnemolith in its talons and beginning to rise once more with a sharp snap of its wings. Such is the thing's stealth that only Vispanius sees it coming, some internal processor alerting him to the perimeter breach and prompting him to pull a weapon before the creature can make off with its ill-gotten loot.

Their escorts have matters of their own to concern them, as all around, seemingly random people in the crowd draw weapons and open fire on them. All is chaos as bullets and las-bolts criss-cross the marketplace, with civilians shrieking and trying desperately to escape the line of fire. Dray stares open-mouthed for a moment before ducking behind his stall and clawing for a weapon of his own.

(Vispanius gets a free round of actions before combat proper commences, during which time the thieving bird is still at close range. Subsequent attacks must be made at range.)

A part of the Lord-Captain sighed inwardly. It seemed that nothing of significance was ever accomplished with ease. The rest of him, however, was too busy bellowing orders and drawing his exquisitely made laspistol to express his frustration.

Vipsanius reacted instantaneously, the man suddenly pulling out a laspistol from somewhere in the folds of his robes, the ancient weapon delicately crafted and carved with many occult symbols of potent origin, the mahogany grip and polished metal surface hinting at delicate care. Aiming the weapon at the creature, the techpriest seems completely ignorant of the rest of the going-ons, instead reciting with a matter-of-factly voice the tenets of true aiming before firing.

[If weapon is already drawn, half a round to aim, then half a round to fire (with the +10 % quality bonus). If weapon isn't drawn, same actions as our venerated Captain]

Race snarled, furious for a moment at being caught off guard, but he was already reaching for his bolt pistol. He aimed for the feathery thief by instinct as much as by the Captain's orders, trusting their men to suppress the other attackers for now.

(Free action to ready weapon; full action to fire a semi-auto burst up at the pigeon.)

Vispanius's initial shot clips the bird's body, setting it luching in the air and prompting it to drop the mnemolith. The stone skips and slides across the deck, coming to rest just beyond the perimeter of armsmen. His follow-up shot, along with Rajender's, passes above the bird as it drops for the deck, perhaps in an attempt to gain speed, or take refuge amongst the crowd. Such questions will never be answered, as one of Race's bolt shells impacts on it and explodes, turning it into a mangled heap of flesh and metal.

The ambushers' initial volley plucks one of the armsmen from his feet, and three more are wounded. Disciplined return fire fells no less than three of their number however. Unfortunately the civilians, unarmoured and unprepared for the onslaught of violence, catch the brunt of numerous stray shots, men and women alike falling to the deck dead or wounded.

The fall of the mnemolith and the subsequent demise of the avian thief elicited a smirk from Rajender, at least until his gaze followed it down to the skirmish below. A regrettable affair, but it told him that their attackers were low-born cowards, attacking from within the crowd while using bystanders for cover. Regrettable but unavoidable on his part. The port authorities would no doubt see it his way.

"Forward!" he commanded, urging his servants and allies towards the fallen stone with an outstretched arm. "Our foes are nothing but thieves and cowards! Show them what you're made of!"

(Attempting to move the armsmen over to the stone. If he can recover it this turn he'll do so. If he has a half-action spare then he'll take a snap shot at one of the ambushers. Also, has the casket which contained the mnemolith been dropped, or did Rajender managed to hold onto it when combat broke out?)

"It would seem, captain, that your reputation... ehehehe... precedes you." The tech-priest's voice was almost smug as he swivelled around, one arm wrapped around the staff for support as he fired off another shot towards one of their assailants after only a brief moment of looking down the sight. He didn't look as if he cared much whether he hit civilians or not, as as soon as he fired his shot he turned once more to wave his gun in another direction.

[Half-action Aiming and then firing]

Last edited by ChristianC on Sun Dec 13, 2009 3:16 pm, edited 1 time in total.

With a vindicated smile inside his helmet, Race ducked and advanced towards the fallen stone. He took a potshot at one of their assailants as he moved; any civilian who hadn't hit the deck already was probably too stupid to worry about hitting.

Rajender and Race reach the stone as the cordon of armsmen advances around them, loosing off shots as they go. The ambushers lose two men to the armsmens' one as they seek cover from the barrage, taking advantage of fallen tables and the corners of passageways. Vispanius and Rajender add their own efforts to the tally, sorely wounding another pair. Race's shot goes wide, as he fails to properly track his moving target. By now, most of the remaining civilians have either dropped or been dropped.

Dray stays down, having apparently decided that if somebody wants him out of the line of fire, it's best not to argue the point. Oddly enough, nobody seems to have landed a hit on any of the explorers themselves thus far. Odd that, since they all stand out in their own ways.

(Rajender still has hold of the casket and and is now standing over the mnemolith, with Race at his side.)

Vipsanius merely gave what sounded like a mechanical chuckle as he stroke the beautifully crafted laspistol, tracing another target with suddenly stable hands, his vision apparently not impended by the heavy cowl over his face. He let loose another shot, thumping his staff in the ground once more in silent praise to the Omnissiah.

Vispanius's shot is largely absorbed by his target's armour. Dauphin and Race have more luck, both their targets dying messily. With another volley of fire from the armsmen dropping another two, the morale of the survivors is abruptly broken, and they turn tail and run, leaving themselves open to any parting shots the group may wish to make. The combat, it seems is over, with the mnemolith secure in Rajender's possession, but little as yet to indicate the identities or motives of their attackers.

Dauphin twirled the inferno gun on his finger before holstering it. He power walked towards the burning enemy he'd taken down, and began kicking it to extinguish the flames.

"Round up the corpses and search them for identifying clues, or communications devices. Then stack the remains and incinerate them. They've sent an invitation and it would be remiss not to RSVP.

Orbest, our Captain Hakon will most assuredly like a word with you. I feel our route to the ship may be primed with more ambushers; whatsay you direct us to suitable accomodations so we may have privacy and refreshments."

Rajender stood up, casket held securely under one arm. Dauphin, as usual, was handling most of the details admirably.

"See to the wounded and prepare the honoured dead for transport. See to any of their wounded as well. We'll see how long their loyalty lasts once we get them in the brig. We shall continue our business aboard the Satisfaction."

(Vispanius shall get a +10 to the operation of that wonderful servo-skull of his.)

Vipsanius holstered his beloved laspistol again after the last shot was fired, and returned once more to leaning on his staff. As the fighting died out, he stepped up to one of the wounded, servo-skull bobbing in the air behind him, bristling with needles and small machinae to aid the ones with a broken body...

"Ah! Yes, yes yes, the wounded..." he muttered, grabbing onto the cheeks of one of their assailants, turning his head forcefully left and right as if inspecting a catch. "Our wounded shall be tended to, honored captain," he mused, standing up once more and directing a few of the guards they had with them to aid him, "...and may I suggest, with your permission of course, that further investigations will be done should they prove resilient to... conventional methods." a metallic chuckle, that still managed to have the characteristics of being 'wet', erupted from his vox-enhancer, "I recently discovered a nerve-cluster in a most unlikely place that could render a subject... aha, paralyzed with pain..."

"Secure the relic then, Hakon. I'll be seeing you." He made a ring gesture with his hand to indicate his micro-bead earring.

"Orbest, we still have matters to attend to; years of missed service evaluations and pay grade reviews. Direct us to a lodging accomodation of your choosing and we'll get to work. Surely this crossroads can offer up something pleasant?"

"I was under the impression that the dynasty's foothold on Port Wander was tenuous at best, Mr Dauphin. The conditions Orbest has served under for some time certainly indicate this. Are you saying that there is a secure location that I was not previously made aware of?"